EVERY THIRD DAWN, as soon as it’s light enough to see, I put on my boots and fill the seed bucket and head out to re-stock the birdfeeders, using the same footprints in the snow I used on the last roundtrip–just like in Andre Jordan‘s doodle. I always go the long way, leaving no trace of myself to mar the view; I love looking out at virgin snow. It won’t be long now, though, before the canvas is green. The last feeder trip or two, the first hints of a dawn chorus greeted me, where only a week ago, there was silence (other than that crazy flock of turkeys roosting at the garden’s edge, in the big trees). I love it here in Nowheresville; I’m glad to be the Lost Gardener.